


What Happens in Vegas...

by merycula (thanksillpass)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 8059 week, Alternate Universe - Vegas, M/M, Ten Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6693292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksillpass/pseuds/merycula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever Gokudera decided to apply some constructive criticism to his actions, which admittedly didn't happen that much, and eventually found himself asking, often horrified, What Would Tsuna Think, it was usually a good indicator of making a poor decision.<br/>Gokudera was officially having a big WWTT moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in Vegas...

It wasn't the first time Gokudera woke up with a massive hungover, his mouth desert dry and disgusting, his head pounding like a hammer. It wasn't even the first time he woke up next to a stranger, pleasantly sore in all the right places, but having no recollection of what happened. He craned his neck to look at his bed mate, but all he could see was the back of his head, and one muscular arm pillowed under it. Gokudera lit a cigarette and pulled at the sheets, uncovering more of the man's tanned body, and red scratch marks running down his toned back. Just the sight of it made Gokudera remember leaving them there, the ghost feeling of strong arms of an athlete holding his waist hard enough to leave bruises. He couldn't help but smirk smugly, even as he flushed pathetically at the memory – even when completely drunk, Gokudera's taste in men seemed to be absolutely impeccable.

He was about to run his fingers through that unruly mess of black hair, or maybe trace the marks on his back, hoping for another round that he could actually fully remember, but the morning light caught on something near the stranger's head, momentarily blinding Gokudera, and making him pause. Well, he had to admit that was definitely the first time he's slept with a married man. He swallowed thickly, not sure how to feel about what he discovered, sobering rather instantly. He supposed there was a first time for everything, and it didn't necessarily made him a bad person, but then again, he couldn't be sure without implementing the WWTT rule. Whenever Gokudera decided to apply some constructive criticism to his actions, which admittedly didn't happen that much, and eventually found himself asking, often horrified, What Would Tsuna Think, it was usually a good indicator of making a poor decision.

Gokudera was officially having a big WWTT moment.

He tried to remember anything from last night that could have led to his current predicament, but everything was blank past moving Tsuna out of the third club on their list, and what he remembered most from the place was the security, which was never a good sign. He remembered the bouncer, a loud muscle man with a band aid on his nose, pleading with Gokudera to run before the head of security showed up. Apparently the guy turned cannibalistic or something if the club got as much as a tiny scratch, and judging by the honest dread on the bouncer's face, Gokudera did much more than just to scratch the place. It was mortifying when he thought about it now, but it had been Tsuna's bachelor party, and it was supposed to be this epic Las Vegas adventure, even if it cost Gokudera his life. And since it definitely cost him his integrity, he certainly hoped it had been the best night of Tsuna's life.

“Morning,” he heard suddenly, muffled by a pillow.

He snapped his head to look at his partner in crime, and he had to hold his breath. God, he was so young. He had to be Gokudera's age, if not younger, but that might have been just the dumb and self-satisfied grin that smoothed out his features and made his face look almost adolescent. For a second, Gokudera simply wondered what was the kid doing being married so young, but then he remembered lots of people their age were, if they didn't have severe abandonment and trust issues like Gokudera. As he stared at the perfect stranger in his bed – was the bed even his? – with no clue whatsoever what to say, the guy's stupid grin only widened, as he looked at Gokudera dreamily with those big, brown, half-lidded eyes. Gokudera tensed then, slowly coming to realize that what he was seeing was less of a “you fucked my brains out and ruined me for all other men” dumb smile, and more of a “I'm the kind of carefree happy-go-lucky idiot man-child that you hate the most in the world” dumb smile.

“I want to die,” he decided with a groan, covering his face with his hands.

The guy laughed happily, a grating sound, sending unpleasant shivers down Gokudera's back. Just how drunk had he been? Suddenly, being married was at the very bottom of the list of that man's flaws, and Gokudera wasn't going to wait and find out more of them. He got up with a disgusted grunt, and instantly stumbled, landing right back on the bed, soft mattress like stone under his ass. His legs actually gave up underneath him. Just what kind of an animal was he dealing with exactly? Gokudera turned around to glare upon hearing a sickeningly good-natured chuckle, but the guy was suddenly too busy frowning at his own hands in confusion to notice. Gokudera scowled when he finally lifted his eyes, holding a spread palm between them, the light catching on the wedding ring again.

“Say Gokudera, did we get married?”

At first, he was just annoyed that the guy had the audacity to remember his name when Gokudera couldn't even recall seeing him before this morning, but then the rest of the question sank in, and his brain short-circuited. He snapped his hands to his face, horrified, and he noticed it instantly – a matching gold ring, hidden among countless pieces of jewelry that Gokudera always wore, which initially disguised the alien presence on his finger. He married a random idiot during a drunken night in Las Vegas, right before his best friend's wedding, like some enormous cliché of a human being, and What Would Tsuna Think of _that_. He was actually going to pass out. He had to call Tsuna.

“I need to call Tsuna,” he said aloud. “I need a cigarette. Where the fuck are my pants?!”

His hands shook as he wrapped a sheet over his waist before getting up from the bed in search of his clothes. He was never body shy, but something about his fucking _husband_ lying languidly in bed, unaffected by being left naked, making soft moaning noises as his muscles stretched and his joints cracked, and following Gokudera's every move made him feel self-conscious, overly aware and ashamed of every finger-shaped bruise on his body. He needed his pants. He needed Tsuna.

“Is Tsuna the cute little kid you were with when we met?”

Gokudera glowered. “He's older than he looks! Probably older than you, anyway.”

He's always been overly protective of Tsuna, he knew that even without a stranger laughing at the passion with which he defended his best friend's honor as an adult. But Tsuna was the first, and probably the only person, who managed to completely tear down Gokudera's carefully built walls. And he didn't just smash them, leaving Gokudera defenseless, he helped him fortify them. Together, they've built new walls, with enough room for both of them, and maybe a heavy door for other people to occasionally come and go through, if they knew the right password.

“Hey, I'm twenty-four, you know!” protested the guy with that idiotic chuckle of his. “Do you, actually? Do you even know my name?”

That was the opening Gokudera needed. What he knew best was how to hurt people, which even a ten-years-long friendship with Tsuna wouldn't change. He finally found his phone, and put on a bored look on his face before pointedly ignoring the man, as he pretended to scroll through his messages, lighting another cigarette.

“Of course not,” he muttered dismissively, exhaling smoke. “Why would I bother remembering it?”

Unsurprisingly, he heard a chuckle. “You seemed to remember it pretty well when you panted 'Yamamoto, Yamamoto' as I-”

Gokudera dropped his phone with a loud thud, causing the idiot to laugh again. Black spots appeared in front of his eyes as his whole body heated with absolute mortification, and he couldn't even force his hands to hold up his cigarette, or the sheets he wrapped himself in – he only noticed they slid down his body because of the happy sigh that Yamamoto let out behind him. Flushing even more, Gokudera growled, picking up the sheets and his phone, and promptly locking himself in the bathroom. His ears were ringing, and it took him a moment to hear Tsuna on the other line, who sounded genuinely concerned, as always, and it only added to the agony of everything.

“I'm so sorry, Tenth... I'm so sorry...”

“What happened, Gokudera? Where are you? Are you alright?”

He wanted to fall to his knees in front of Tsuna and grovel, because he worried about Gokudera, who did nothing but to get out of his way to ruin the most important day of his best friend's life. How could he confess his heinous crimes a few hours before Tsuna was to finally marry his middle school sweetheart? The answer was he couldn't, and he had to do what he did second best – lie. He lit another cigarette, inhaling deeply.

“I'm sorry I'm not there yet,Tenth!” he exclaimed with fake cheer. “I ran into an old friend, and we got completely shit-faced, but I'll be there in an hour!”

Tsuna laughed a little bit nervously. “Oh, I see. It was a wild night, wasn't it? I'm still not sure I remember everything! I think we broke a table, and someone wanted to bite me...”

Gokudera let Tsuna chatter about what he remembered of his bachelor evening, partly because he knew talking helped Tsuna relax and forget about his anxiety, and partly because he was the best source of information about what the hell actually happened to Gokudera that led him to this point. He listened intently and made comprehensive noises in all the right moments, while struggling to take off his wedding band without dislocating his shoulder. God, he was stiff, and sore, and he needed a hot shower.

“Anyway, would you like to bring your friend with you?” asked Tsuna out of the sudden. “I don't want you to spend the entire wedding by yourself... Seriously, Gokudera, I know you don't do boyfriends, but you could have at least invited your sister...”

“You know she makes me sick,” he grumbled automatically, barely containing a shout of triumph at finally removing the ring. “And I'll be fine, Tenth, you know I will.”

“Alright,” said Tsuna with a soft, defeated sigh. “If you change your mind, your invite does say plus one. I'll see you soon, yeah?”

Tsuna hung up before Gokudera could assure him again that he'd be fine on his own. He momentarily considered asking Bianchi to come, as she was rich enough to get there in time, just so Tsuna wouldn't worry about him on his big day, but that was simply unimaginable. Yamamoto was obviously out of the question, as Gokudera never wanted to see him again, ever. Except, he would have to, as he realized when he dropped the forgotten wedding band on the shower floor. He didn't bother picking it up, too grateful for the strong spray of hot water relaxing his muscles and clearing his head. He let himself simply enjoy the shower for a few minutes before he forced himself to face the facts again.

As much as he hated the thought of ever interacting with that idiot, he needed Yamamoto to annul the marriage. Even before that, he needed Yamamoto to respect that it was Tsuna's wedding day, and Gokudera didn't have any time to waste on this farce until the next day. And most of all, he needed him to stay put until the whole thing was over, no matter how long it took. He couldn't imagine Yamamoto wanting anymore to do with Gokudera than the other way round; no matter how stupid he seemed, who would actually want to marry a stranger in Vegas and stay married to them? Still, he didn't know _anything_ about Yamamoto, except that he was an idiot, and a pervert. Gokudera honestly didn't have any guarantee that he wouldn't cause at least some problems – like turn out to be a prostitute, just to maximize Gokudera's humiliation, or worse, and more plausible, forget about the whole thing, and get on a plane to Japan in two hours.

Clearly, Gokudera had to keep an eye on Yamamoto until he was a free man again, and as soon as he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, he barged back into the bedroom, too determined to worry about his nudity, and absolutely _didn't_ pause at the sight of sleeping Yamamoto, having ridiculous thoughts about pinnacles of human perfection and whatnot, before throwing a random article of clothing at him, and startling him awake.

“Take a shower and get dressed, you idiot,” he seethed. “We're going to a wedding.”

* * *

The journey to the venue was a quiet and well-organized affair, considering. It was a bit surprising that Yamamoto went along with the plan with no complaining, and minimum questioning, but it really was the least he could do after getting Gokudera drunk enough to get married by an Elvis. Even though he was still laughing at Gokudera's every annoyed grunt, which was all the time, seeing as everything annoyed Gokudera at the moment, and tried to make dumb idle conversation, his biggest offense, in all honesty, was how good he looked in a suit.

“Listen,” snapped Gokudera, putting out a cigarette, just before they entered Tsuna's hotel. “In case anyone asks, we're old friends who ran into each other by accident. If you even _hint_ at what actually happened last night, I will stick a dynamite up your ass and light it with the fire of my vengeance. We're gonna deal with it after Tenth is a happily married man. Understood?”

Yamamoto laughed. “You're funny when you try to be scary. But okay, I won't say anything.”

Gokudera only rolled his eyes, fixing his tie before walking into the hotel. It was hectic, which was probably pretty standard for wedding preparations, but Gokudera spotted Tsuna in a second. He looked absolutely terrified, but the excitement was clear in his eyes too, his frame tense with anticipation. He beamed when he noticed Gokudera, and his grin only grew wider when he looked at Yamamoto. At first, Gokudera thought it was because Tsuna was glad he would have company, but was soon disillusioned.

“You never told me you were friends with Yamamoto Takeshi!” he squeaked, cheeks pink. “I can't believe Yamamoto Takeshi is at my wedding! Now I'm twice as nervous!”

Gokudera paled. Yamamoto being anyone recognizable was something he did not take into account at all, but he always worked well under pressure, so after a brief period of adjustment to a new situation, he plastered a fake grin, and patiently waited for Tsuna and Yamamoto to exchange pleasantries and congratulations.

“We should leave you to get ready, Tenth!” said Gokudera, grabbing Yamamoto's elbow. “We'll see you at the church!”

Tsuna nodded enthusiastically, still staring at Yamamoto a little blearily, and joined his overexcited mother, visibly more relaxed. It infuriated Gokudera that the biggest mistake of his life calmed Tsuna down more in two minutes than anything Gokudera's done in the last two months. As soon as they were was out of sight, Gokudera scowled, pulling Yamamoto closer by the collar of his shirt, and grit his teeth, wanting nothing more than to wipe that soft, surprised smile off his face with his fist.

“Who the hell are you? You're famous? Why didn't you tell me, you complete idiot?”

Yamomoto was still smiling. “You didn't ask. I told you last night that I was here to celebrate the end of the baseball season.”

Baseball. Gokudera wasn't even shocked anymore that Yamamoto was a jock on top of being an idiot. He should have known, though, he should have guessed, or asked, or _something_. Now he was stuck with a useless feeble lie that he, a nerd for all intents and purposes, was somehow friends with a professional baseball player, which he managed to hide from his best friend for ten years. It was just his luck that Tsuna was too consumed with the wedding, and possibly too awestruck by meeting a celebrity, to see the holes in the logic of it all. Frankly, Gokudera was mostly angry with himself, but it was much more satisfying to take it out on Yamamoto.

“You'll be lucky if I don't kill you before the day is over,” he said. “That would solve my marital problem all the same, and trust me, you baseball idiot, I can make a body disappear.”

Of course, Yamamoto laughed, but it was weak and short-lived, his eyes not leaving Gokudera's mouth long after he finished talking. Gokudera flushed despite himself when Yamamoto distractedly wet his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, because the idea of his threats getting Yamamoto hot was as insulting as it was inconveniently arousing. Frustrated, he shoved Yamamoto outside and pushed him into the limo, putting a significant distance between them, just to make a point. He could feel Yamamoto's eyes on him, which admittedly made him squirm in his seat, but he didn't look up from his phone even once.

He definitely wasn't googling Yamamoto either.

It was going to be over an hour long drive, because no one respectable, or with half a brain for that matter, actually wanted to get married in Las Vegas, and Gokudera ran out of ways to pretend Yamamoto didn't exist pretty quickly. He decided to take a nap, which was preferable to making a conscious effort to ignore Yamamoto, and Lambo, Gokudera's least favorite driver of all time, was sure to entertain the idiot anyway, not that Gokudera cared.

He dreamed of loud music and bright smiles, strong hands and hot lips, fragments of conversation. He was playing the piano, and watching fireworks, and laughing. He woke up with a start, his cheek pressed into Yamamoto's shoulder, encompassed by his smell, exasperatingly familiar and oddly comforting. He was too confused for a moment to even move, and only Yamamoto's chuckle fully brought him back to reality, but not before he let Yamamoto's fingers brush a strand of hair off his face.

“Are we there yet, you stupid cow?” he snapped to Lambo, scrambling away from Yamamoto with as much dignity as he could muster. “What time is it?”

Lambo ignored him in lieu of humming a stupid kids song, and Gokudera reached for his phone before Yamamoto could feel compelled to answer him. There was still twenty minutes to the wedding, and Gokudera was restless; he really needed a cigarette. There was a message from Bianchi on his phone, and two missed calls, which he was more than happy to disregard, so he opted for clearing his search history, and checking if there were any incriminating photos on there.

He didn't have to look far, because the last photo he's taken was one of Yamamoto's bare ass, still angry red where, as Gokudera suddenly remembered with humiliating clarity, he grabbed it in an attempt to pull Yamamoto in even deeper. He dropped his phone again, and he had to resist the urge to throw it out of the window as soon as he picked it up. He risked a glance at Yamamoto, who was looking at his phone too, wearing that stupid dumb idiotic smile on his awful face, and Gokudera was too horrified to even try to imagine what he could be looking at.

“Finally,” he grumbled in relief as the car came to a stop. “You are literally the worst driver, you stupid cow. We're almost late! Come on, Yamamoto, we can't make Tenth wait.”

He locked his phone, shoving it in his pocket, and sprung out of the car to smoke a cigarette, ignoring Lambo sticking his tongue out like an immature child he was. Yamamoto was at his side instantly, still smiling softly, and making Gokudera wonder if his face was simply stuck like that at this point of his life, unable to express any emotion other than idiocy. Yamamoto yawned and rolled his shoulders, seemingly unaware of the effect that every tiny shift of his muscles under that fucking suit had on Gokudera. He had to look away, face warm, hating how weak he was, memories of last night gradually coming back to him, and infecting his mind with Yamamoto.

“Why do you keep calling your friend Tenth?” asked Yamamoto out of the blue, providing much needed distraction.

Gokudera clicked his tongue. “Not that it's any of your business, but Tsuna is an heir to the Vongola family. Tenth generation, hence the nickname.”

Yamamoto's eyes widened comically, and Gokudera snorted; so even idiots like that knew about the Vongola. Putting out his cigarette, he unceremoniously headed towards the church, smirking at Yamamoto muttering to himself in disbelief at attending an actual mafia wedding. Gokudera entertained himself with occasionally pointing out certain members of prominent families and groups – Millefiore, Simon, Chiavarone, Varia, Kokuyo – in high hopes that Yamamoto's head would eventually explode, but all it did was to put an even wider grin on the idiot's face, much to Gokudera's disappointment.

The ceremony started before Gokudera had a chance to vent his frustrations, and it was so absolutely beautiful, he forgot about Yamamoto entirely. He wasn't above admitting he teared up, standing by Tsuna's side as he and Kyoko exchanged vows, but for the past ten years, all he's wanted was for his best friend to be happy, and Gokudera simply couldn't keep his emotions in check; besides, their old school friend Haru made such a spectacle of herself crying that no one could hear or see anything else. Gokudera was so happy that he didn't even rip Yamamoto's arm off when he covered Gokudera's shaking hand with his.

The reception was an outdoor event, loud and joyous, with delicious food and an actually good band, and couldn't even be ruined by Gokudera's inadequate toast as the best man. He's worked on his speech for ages, he poured his soul into it, and the only reason he didn't break down at the end was because of Yamamoto's intense gaze fixed on him all the time. He resented him for witnessing it, because he wasn't supposed to be here, a complete stranger among Gokudera's family, but he refused to let Yamamoto ruin if for him, or for Tsuna.

“That was a great speech,” he complimented, genuine, when Gokudera sat down. “You must love Tsuna a lot, haha.”

Gokudera scoffed, feeling himself blush. “I write for scientific journals, I think I know how to put together a stupid toast. Idiots like you are just easily impressed.”

“So modest,” teased Yamamoto with a chuckle. “And awful. You're such an awful person, Gokudera.”

Gokudera's heart actually skipped a beat. The way Yamamoto said awful was as if he meant wonderful, and they both knew it. He was remembering more than he would have wanted now, not just hands and breaths, but words as well, and the air between them was electrifying, so heavily charged that it was hard to breathe. Gokudera felt that if he made just one wrong move, shifted a little bit too close, he would lose himself in whatever it was that had consumed him last night.

“Will you dance with me?” asked Yamamoto, smiling and unassuming.

Gokudera flushed, because he remembered dancing with Yamamoto in the spray of the fountain, his feet bare, and wet, and cold in the water, just like he used to dance with his mother. He couldn't understand what it was about Yamamoto that's made Gokudera share something like that with him, and he couldn't understand what was it that made him want to find out even now. Yamamoto must have bewitched him, and Gokudera wasn't having it. He wanted everything to be over already.

“No,” he deadpanned. “It's time I told Tenth what happened. Ask Yuni to dance, and if I'm lucky, her husband with feed you to the foxes.”

But of course, Yamamoto followed him instead, mostly concerned with why anyone would feed people to foxes, and Gokudera ignored him. When they approached Tsuna, Gokudera could see he instantly knew something was wrong, and it made him smile ruefully. He pleaded with Tsuna not to overly concern himself with the matter, and to enjoy the rest of his wedding, but Gokudera had to take his leave. He explained everything as briefly as possible, half-expecting Tsuna to react similarly to himself, but he forgot sometimes how much Tsuna's grown and changed. Instead of flailing in panic, like he used to do in middle school at nearly anything, he pressed his lips together in a tight, determined line, and nodded curtly.

“I'll call Reborn.”

* * *

Tsuna's lawyer was there in the morning, already having all the answers they needed before Gokudera even opened his eyes. Yamamoto was still snoring lightly on the couch, and Gokudera winced in sympathy for his back. Reborn didn't look happy with them, but then again, Gokudera could rarely correctly interpret his facial expression. The way Reborn asked him to wake up his _husband_ though, rolling the word on his tongue as if it was something sticky and sour, was a dead giveaway of his mood.

“It shouldn't take more than three days to annul the marriage,” he declared. “However, I would prefer if you agreed to a voluntary confinement until then, gentlemen. I'm sure Mr. Yamamoto has some inclination of being in the spotlight in unfortunate situations like that, being a celebrity himself, but it's not just paparazzi we have to deal with here now. You've married a gangster, after all, and attended a mafia wedding together. No matter how inconspicuous you thought you were being, we can't assume _someone_ doesn't know _something_.”

Yamamoto only laughed in response. “Haha, sure, little guy, I don't mind. I'll just call my dad to say I'll be staying a few days longer.”

“That's acceptable.”

While Reborn seemed pleased, Gokudera was horrified. Yamamoto talking to Reborn as if they were friends, openly commenting on his short height, and acting like all of that was nothing but a silly game, when Reborn could probably kill him with two moves in three seconds without blinking, honestly sent shivers of dread down Gokudera's spine. But Reborn appeared to condone Yamamoto's carefree attitude, which he possibly interpreted as impressive confidence, and after getting them to sing some papers, he prepared to leave.

“The hotel staff will provide everything you need, and I've assigned Kokuyo group as your security detail. They'll be outside your door at all times in case you require any assistance. I'll contact you when it's safe to leave. Gokudera, try your best not to kill Mr. Yamamoto.”

Gokudera scowled, and Yamamoto chuckled, which was an insult to Gokudera's murderous tendencies _and_ skills, but before he could do anything about it, Yamamoto was already talking to someone on the phone in fluent Japanese. Gokudera wondered what excuse he'd come up with for his father, but that felt suspiciously like giving a damn, so he quickly found other things to do. By the time he finished writing an article, he had four cups of coffee and smoked a pack of cigarettes. He's been vaguely aware of Yamamoto's presence – taking a shower, throwing a baseball at the ceiling, ordering sushi, watching dog videos on his phone – but he did his best to ignore him.

However, at some point, there really wasn't much else to do _but_ talk to Yamamoto. Gokudera could be polite if he wanted to, and while he had no qualms letting anyone know what he thought of them, he had to spend three days with Yamamoto locked up in that hotel room, and keeping it civilized was probably a better idea than actively trying to kill him, or himself. They ordered dinner, and had a normal conversation about Tsuna's wedding and Reborn's shoes. It was almost nice.

“Is there anything you want to do, Gokudera?” asked Yamamoto. “Watch a movie maybe?”

Gokudera snorted unkindly. “I have better things to do.”

He didn't, but there was being civil, and there was acting domestic, and that was out of the question.

“Really? Okay, haha. If you change your mind, maybe we could watch a baseball game. You said you've never seen one.”

Gokudera didn't remember ever saying that to anyone, let alone Yamamoto, and he was suddenly furious again, for barely recalling the night they spent together. Yamamoto seemed to remember everything, like a giant, dumb, baseball-playing elephant, and it was completely unfair. Yamamoto hummed, as if he could sense what Gokudera was thinking, and he looked at him, smiling softly, and while it was annoying, it wasn't unkind.

“You really don't remember anything?” he asked.

Gokudera bristled. “Why don't you enlighten me then? I guess you just weren't that memorable.”

Yamamoto laughed, not offended in the slightest, whether because he was too stupid to recognize an insult, or because he could see right through Gokudera – it was hard to decide which was worse. He _wanted_ to remember Yamamoto, even if only to have undeniable proof that it was nothing more than a drunken night resulting in an admittedly great sex, and one big, ill-advised, but completely reversible decision. But what he was left with was uncertainty, helpless wondering, and it was killing him.

“I was pretty drunk already when I saw you,” started Yamamoto, uncharacteristically serious. “You were playing the piano, and you looked... amazing. You sounded amazing. Haha, I just wanted to talk to you, really bad. And you wanted to talk to anybody about something called U.M.A, and I still don't know what they are, but you were so passionate about it that I followed you, haha. I think my teammates thought U.M.A-watching was code for sex, and they didn't stop me, so we went, just like that. You got really angry when we didn't find any, haha, so we just started walking around, drinking from a paper bag, and talking about everything. You talked a lot, but you listened a lot, too. You wanted to beat up my coach for making me train too hard, even though I said I didn't mind, haha.”

Gokudera stayed quiet, swallowing nervously, and frowning in concentration. He thought he could remember seeing childish wonder in Yamamoto's eyes, and hearing his laughter for the first time, so free and kind, and nostalgic. He remembered thinking he's found a soulmate, which was ridiculous, but not impossible considering how drunk he was. But there must have been more to that, because while Gokudera trusted strangers with his body, he's never let anyone close enough to even begin asking himself if he could really _trust_ them. But he trusted Yamamoto that night.

Yamamoto cleared his throat before continuing. “I remember you wanted to dance in the fountain, but the one we've found wasn't working, so you put some explosives in there, haha. I don't even know where you kept them all night. You said you'd make it rain, and you did, and we danced in the rain, haha. It was so much fun, I felt like a kid again. You looked really pretty too. I kissed you there, cause I couldn't help myself. I thought that would be it, haha, but you kissed me back, and you took me to all these places, and told me so many things they made you think of and remember. I think we kissed in every place in Las Vegas, haha. At dawn, we got married by Elvis, and you took me to your hotel, and I couldn't stop touching you-”

 

That part he remembered, vividly. If he let Yamamoto say another word, he would have to face the fact that he longed for it, too. He sprung from the couch, his face heating up pathetically, and took an almost cold shower. When he went back to the room, Yamamoto stood over the couch, shirtless, which didn't help at all, and rolling his shoulders, visibly uncomfortable. It formed a small crack in one of Gokudera's walls, because as much as it pained him to admit, Yamamoto has been nothing but kind and accommodating to him all this time, and even Gokudera could acknowledge that he, on the other hand, was simply being a total dick.

“I'll take the couch tonight,” he muttered. “You can have the bed.”

Yamamoto blinked in surprise and grinned brightly. “Wow, Gokudera, thanks! That's really nice of you.”

“Whatever. I've seen you on this couch, it looks ridiculous. I don't mind cause I'm... less... disproportionately... long...”

Yamamoto laughed at Gokudera's awkward wording. “What? Do you mean short?”

Gokudera wasn't really angry when he threw a pillow at Yamamoto, promising him a painful death, but it seemed appropriate to keep the appearances as they carried out an actual pillow fight, like a couple of teenagers, Yamamoto laughing freely, and Gokudera trying his best to look menacing as they wrestled. He was horrified to realize that he liked how Yamamoto made him feel, like he could let go from time to time. It didn't even come close to the terror he experienced when they landed on the bed, Yamamoto's grinning face hovering over his close enough for Gokudera to feel the hot puffs of his breath on his parted lips.

He really wanted to kiss Yamamoto, so he shoved him away, and curled up on the couch without another word.

* * *

It was late when he woke up, and Yamamoto was already opening the door. Gokudera briefly panicked when he saw Tsuna, but he had enough time to compose himself, courtesy of Tsuna's weird baseball crush on Yamamoto. They ate breakfast together, and Tsuna kept apologizing for not stopping by earlier, and Gokudera apologized for getting himself into this mess, causing Tsuna to delay his honeymoon, and Yamamoto just laughed, completely unapologetic. They both seemed to get along great, which simultaneously pleased and irritated Gokudera, and agonizing over it was enough to get him through the baseball game Tsuna insisted on watching with Yamamoto.

Kyoko and Haru dropped by later for dinner, and for the first time Gokudera honestly wished he could leave the room. Yamamoto seemed perfectly happy with everyone and everything, joking around and laughing like he meant it. Instead of dismissing it as permanent brain damage, Gokudera found himself wondering how he did it, and realizing he possibly envied Yamamoto his optimism and bright disposition, maybe even admired it a bit. It was an odd thought to have, but it bothered Gokudera less than he might have imagined.

When they were alone again, they sat in comfortable silence for a while, Gokudera texting his cat sitter, and Yamamoto playing with his baseball again. Unprompted, Yamamoto suddenly got up to make them coffee, and then put his head outside to ask if the guys from Kokuyo didn't want anything. Gokudera was so appalled that he almost didn't notice Yamamoto made the coffee exactly like Gokudera liked it, which was weird, but not enough to complain about a perfect cup of coffee, even in his opinion.

“I was looking at the pictures from that night,” said Yamamoto, sitting opposite Gokudera, and ruining his good mood. “We looked really happy, haha. You looked really happy. Would you like me to send them to you?”

Gokudera gaped, offended. “I'm not giving you my number, you pervert. And of course we looked happy, we were drunk off our fucking asses. We were so drunk we got fucking married.”

“Haha, I guess. What do you wanna do today?”

Gokudera pointedly lifted his phone from the table and made a show of unlocking it to indicate that what he was going to do did not involve Yamamoto in any way. The idiot just shrugged with a chuckle, and picked the ball up again, flopping down on the bed. Gokudera shook his head in exasperation before actually paying attention to his phone. Upon closer inspection, there were even more messages from Bianchi, which he traditionally ignored, but beyond that, the device didn't offer him much entertainment.

“You should look at the photos, if you don't have anything to do,” offered Yamamoto suddenly, startling him.

His eyes were closed, his arms crossed behind his head, ready to nap, and he was wearing a small, kind of smug smile. Not having anything to throw at him except an empty mug, Gokudera simply clicked his tongue and, out of spite, forced himself to open his photo gallery, his fingers shaking slightly. The last picture still caused heat to pool in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't bring himself to delete it. Going through the rest of the pictures, he was mortified to discover they were even worse than the first one. They weren't even sexy, which would certainly be a redeeming quality, they were just...

A lot of the photos was just of them kissing, really, some in front of a tacky chapel, but mostly in different locations Gokudera remembered he's always wanted to visit in Vegas, and it was disconcerting to see himself so... He refused to name what he saw on his own face in the pictures, what he gradually remembered more and more clearly feeling. It made no sense anyway, and was probably just misinterpreted lust, because Yamamoto was attractive, God help him, and Gokudera had been really drunk, and even more horny, and perhaps a little bit lonely at the thought of Tsuna finally getting married.

It didn't explain the countless pictures of Yamamoto on his phone that were just him smiling at Gokudera dreamily, and it certainly didn't explain the way it made Gokudera feel as he was looking at them now. More pictures of them kissing, even more of Yamamoto just standing there, all handsome, and drunk, and happy. Gokudera felt a little bit sick. But that could have been his gut warning him about danger, because there was suddenly an incoming call from his sister.

“What do you want?” he hissed, quieter than he intended, but if he didn't want Yamamoto to wake up, it was only because he enjoyed the peace.

Bianchi scoffed. “Hey, why so hostile, little brother? I just wanted to check how the married life's treating you.”

“How-” Gokudera was speechless for a moment, eyes widening. Did Reborn tell her? “How do you know about that?”

“Did you even read any of my messages? You called me that night, and said you've met someone, and you were in love. You said you've never felt like this, and you asked him to marry you, and he said yes. You sent me a picture of his ass. It's very nice, but I'd like to see his face, too.”

More than anything, Gokudera was relieved that the news haven't spread to Italy yet. Besides, Bianchi sounded even more unimpressed with him than Reborn, which helped a lot, not to mention that his sister's opinion of him was literally the last thing he's ever cared about, which often inspired uninhibited honesty that he didn't even offer Tsuna, or sometimes even himself. Yamamoto was napping anyway, so Gokudera casually snapped a picture and sent it to Bianchi. She gasped, and made an appreciative noise, causing him to roll his eyes; another valid reason to hate Yamamoto was that Bianchi approved of him.

“Wait, is that that baseball player?” she asked, unusually excited.

Gokudera groaned. “Does literally everyone know who he is except me? Fucking baseball idiots.”

“Anyone who owns a TV,” she said, back to sounding bored. “He's something of a national heartthrob, that boy. I can't believe you actually married him. His fans would stone you if they knew. What are you gonna do now?”

Gokudera lit a cigarette. “Nothing. Reborn is taking care of it. He'll be out of my life tomorrow, maybe the day after. I don't want to see that idiot ever again.”

Bianchi only hummed, a knowing sound she made whenever she wanted to convey she wasn't convinced in the least. Gokudera didn't sound convincing even to himself at this point, and it bothered him, because the last thing he wanted was Yamamoto growing on him. It was enough he seemed to be the love of his drunk-self's life – sober Gokudera couldn't even handle that knowledge without cringing. It was so out of character for him, and it made him feel things he didn't know how to deal with. He wished he could talk to Tsuna, but that would only be a ridiculous bother.

“I can't believe I married a famous baseball player in Vegas while too drunk to remember it the next day,” he finally said out loud, which felt rather good.

Bianchi was silent only for a moment. “Ah, dear little brother, for someone so hot-headed, you rarely let yourself _feel,_ you know. You do things without thinking all the time, but not in this. And I know it's about our father, and your mother, but maybe- Maybe that's what you secretly want? Some crazy romantic adventure, passion before reason, love at first sight and all that? Maybe you're more like me than you'd like.”

With Bianchi's usually condescending tone, it was often difficult to established how serious she was, but the last bit was a strong indication that she was teasing him, at least a little bit. Growling and blushing all at once, Gokudera gripped his phone tighter, and reminded his sister that it was precisely the reason he hated talking to her, before hanging up on the sound of her laughter. He kicked the table in frustration, and it startled Yamamoto awake.

“How did this happen?” he demanded angrily. “How did I end up married to _you?”_

Yamamoto was awake in an instant, eyes sharp again. “Hey, now, you asked _me_ to marry _you.”_

That wasn't the point, but he didn't know how to say this without getting into a humiliating conversation about feelings. He huffed, lighting another cigarette, and flopped down on the couch, his hand dangling above the floor, uselessly waiting for his cat to come rub her head against it. He hated being here.

“Here, Gokudera, lay down on the bed.”

Gokudera clicked his tongue, resentful of Yamamoto's concern. “Don't bother. I'll sleep here. I'm too tired to move anyway. Just go back to sleep.”

Yamamoto did lay back down, but Gokudera could hear he was still awake, shifting restlessly. Gokudera was angry, and confused, and he needed some answers, or all of that was going to drive him insane. And even if Bianchi was right, and he was just a closeted romantic chasing after an adrenaline rush, what was Yamamoto doing here, all nice, and warm, and never offended, and always, always, watching Gokudera with a smile that promised him things he couldn't even begin to understand?

“Why did you say yes?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Yamamoto let out a sigh, but it wasn't tired, or annoyed, but fond. “I was drunk, and a beautiful man asked me to marry him. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Gokudera scowled, blushing. He couldn't get used to Yamamoto being so honest about everything he said or did, and yet always sounding like he was joking – it was disorienting and unnerving, and set fire to Gokudera's veins, making his body thrum with violence and something else entirely. He scoffed, just to remind Yamamoto he wasn't impressed with him.

“But _why?_ Be serious for once.”

Yamamoto shifted, and hummed thoughtfully. “I don't know. You said you liked my smile. You said you didn't know many people with kind smiles.”

Gokudera wasn't expecting _that_. He couldn't believe himself, what had he been thinking? Was he really that pathetic? His ears were burning, and he regretted asking, so he curled on his side, pulling a blanket over himself, and let out one final grunt of defeat.

“Whatever. I'm going to sleep.”

The silence between then seemed too charged now, and Gokudera just couldn't sleep, his brain refusing to shut down. He listened to Yamamoto breathing, and he knew he was listening too, and Gokudera couldn't stand the thought of them both lying awake next to each other, and not doing anything. He made an effort to even out his breaths, willing the darkness and the quiet to lull him to sleep. He almost jumped when he heard Yamamoto chucking to himself softly, fond.

“You said we've known each other in previous life, and you loved me, and wanted to be with me forever. I thought it was cute.”

Gokudera pretended to be asleep.

* * *

He didn't get much sleep that night, unsurprisingly, so at first light, he didn't see any point of staying on that uncomfortable couch. He took the longest shower of his life, made the strongest cup of coffee, and wrote possibly the best article in his career before Yamamoto was up. While he was in the shower, Gokudera wondered if athletes were supposed to sleep so much, but maybe they hibernated like bears off-season. Gokudera wanted to feel good, because it was the last day of their house arrest, but he was just tired.

They ate breakfast separately, because Yamamoto could read the atmosphere better than he let on, and Gokudera simply didn't know how to interact with him after finding out what a complete fool he's made out of himself that night. He honestly couldn't comprehend why Yamamato wasn't the one freaking out, after some drunk maniac asked him to marry him because they were soulmates, and then ruined his vacation with some mafia nonsense, not to mention subjected him to constant verbal abuse.

Gokudera Hayato was actually a horrible human being.

He begged Tsuna to come over and distract him, and it helped, because Tsuna was always a soothing presence, even if he was just sitting here and fretting over whatever worries, which was currently his honeymoon. Gokudera thought it was looking wonderful, everything carefully planned just the way Kyoko wanted, and there was no way Tsuna wasn't going to make her the happiest woman on the planet, so he said as much. Yamamoto's idea of comfort was to laugh, and assure Tsuna that at least his honeymoon wouldn't be worse than theirs.

Tsuna looked like he wasn't sure if it was okay to laugh, letting out nervous squeaks instead, and Gokudera wanted to strangle Yamamoto for making him uncomfortable. No one said anything for a moment, the only sound in the room being Yamamoto's happy laughter, and Gokudera finally snapped, wrapping his hands around Yamamoto's neck and shaking him, spewing profanities while his victim continued to laugh, like it was the best fun of his life. He stopped only when Tsuna intervened, but he was still vibrating with adrenaline when the other two moved to the couch to watch TV.

Only then did he allow himself to let out a startled chuckle. He couldn't believe Yamamoto sometimes, and he couldn't believe he actually found it funny himself, but it was – they really did have the worst honeymoon in history. He looked over to Tsuna and Yamamoto, sitting side by side, laughing, and he felt a pang of regret. He could get used to it – shouting at Yamamoto, fighting him over Tsuna's attention, fighting him over anything, really, because Yamamoto would only ever smile at him appeasingly, let Gokudera work himself up into a storm, and take everything in stride, until there was nothing left but pleasant exhaustion and each other's company.

Gokudera knew that somehow.

Tsuna was eating dinner with his wife, so he left after a couple of hours, but he did manage to break the tension, and Gokudera and Yamamoto ate dinner together, even if they didn't speak, so that was progress. Considering how little Gokudera slept, he was surprised he didn't crash while still at the table, and he was looking forward to a nap, but when he reached the bed, Yamamoto was already there. Gokudera grit his teeth, annoyed, and looked at the couch with disgust, before giving up.

“Move over,” he demanded, shoving at Yamamoto's shoulder.

Yamamoto made room for him without comment, chuckling softly under his breath, and Gokudera was too tired to care. He was expecting to fall asleep instantly, but he kept tossing and turning, too aware of Yamamoto too close to him to even think straight, let alone sleep. With a frustrated sigh, he flopped on his back and crossed his arms on his chest, glaring at the ceiling. Yamamoto chuckled again, knowingly, and Gokudera rolled his eyes.

“Can't sleep? Do you want to play a game?”

Gokudera snorted. “What, like truth or dare? Forget it. I don't want to get to know you.”

That was a lie, and Yamamoto probably knew that just as well as Gokudera did, but it was too late do anything about it anyway. Yamamoto hummed noncommittally, and Gokudera didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling. It was infuriating, and charming, and Gokudera wanted to kiss Yamamoto again. He was suddenly wide awake with the shock of the realization, his heartbeat and breathing coming on faster, and he wasn't really thinking at all when he turned his head to look at Yamamoto's profile.

“Do you want to have sex?” he asked as neutrally as he could.

Yamamoto's breath caught, and he swallowed audibly, all for Gokudera to watch closely, and commit to memory. He slowly turned his head towards Gokudera, and they laid there, facing each other for a moment, before Yamamoto spoke.

“I do,” he admitted shakily. “But I don't think it's a good idea.”

Gokudera turned his head back to the ceiling, and nodded. “Yeah, I don't think it is.”

Quickly composing himself, he turned to his side, his back to Yamamoto, because he didn't want him to see how actually hurt he was by his rejection, even though he really shouldn't have been expecting anything else. He didn't want it to be a big deal, it was just a thought, and he was honestly surprised by his current emotional state. He was angry, angrier than he had the right to be, probably, but he couldn't help it – anger was how he dealt with helplessness. Yamamoto shifted behind him, and grazed Gokudera's hip with his fingertips, making him flinch, and instantly pulled away. Gokudera swallowed, closing his eyes.

“You see, I like you a lot, Gokudera. Haha, I probably more than like you. I wouldn't mind staying married to you.”

Gokudera's breath hitched, and his eyes snapped wide open. “You don't know what you're talking about, you don't even know me.”

“I do, a little,” said Yamamoto, deceptively casual. “I know you're loyal, and fierce, and impulsive, and so, so smart. I know you can't cook, and your sister can, but you hate her food. I know you can play the piano really well, but almost never do anymore. And you need glasses to read, and you like fireworks. And explosives, which is bad for you, you know. I know how many cigarettes a day you smoke. That's bad for you too. I know you think your cat actually hates you, but you love her almost as much as you love Tsuna. I know you still miss your mother everyday.”

Gokudera had to close his eyes back again, and suck in a breath, or he might actually cry, or burst out laughing. His life was officially absurd, because Yamamoto Takeshi, this impossible person who's learned Gokudera from drunken ramblings, and scarcely-thrown scraps of words and actions, actually managed to scratch the surface, and still liked Gokudera enough to try being married to him. The only sensible course of action was, obviously, to get as far away from him as possible, so Gokudera sit up, reaching for his cigarettes, and putting one in his mouth.

“Yeah well,” he mumbled dismissively around it. “I don't like you, so that settles it.”

“Haha, I guess it does.”

Neither of them bothered acknowledging how fake Yamamoto's laugh sounded, just like neither commented on the fact Gokudera was shaking as he was leaving the room to step out on the balcony. He took a deep breath, inhaling the cold air with the smoke, and as he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, it was easy to pretend they stung from the cigarettes, because the wind was strong, and it looked like it was going to rain. He didn't know what to think, even though he had all the facts, and he's never felt this way, so elated and scared at the same time, and it was all one big mess.

Yamamoto liked him. That was a fact. He saw Gokudera drunk, and cruel, and vulnerable, and he still liked him. He was a bit of an idiot, but the kind that Gokudera apparently didn't hate. That was also a fact. He was kind, handsome, fun, reliable, and an excellent fuck – he was sickeningly perfect. Facts, facts, facts. Tsuna loved him, Reborn loved him, everyone loved him, and Gokudera probably loved him a little bit too. Oh. God help him, Gokudera was in love with Yamamoto. That could have been a fact. He needed to talk to someone who knew what to do.

He reached for his phone, almost dropping it. Tsuna was too busy, Shamal was too disgusting, Reborn too scary, and Bianchi- He called Bianchi, already regretting his decision, but of course, just as he needed her, he reached her voicemail, impassively telling him not to leave a message if he wasn't Reborn.

“Bianchi. Bianchi, listen. I think I'm in love with him for real this time. I think I actually love him, Bianchi, and I don't know what to do right now. I've never been in love, so I might be wrong, but I'm hiding on the balcony just in case, and it's going to rain, so call me back asap.”

When he turned around, planning to go inside to grab some extra layers, Yamamoto was there, looking at him in disbelief, because Gokudera naturally didn't close the door, and he could hear everything Gokudera's just said. He must have followed him, for reasons beyond Gokudera's comprehension, considering how he's just treated Yamamoto, but there he was, slowly approaching the balcony, but stopping by the door, cautious. They just stared at each other for a while, neither really knowing what to say, and then Yamamoto laughed, of course.

“You think this is funny, baseball idiot?” snapped Gokudera defensively, voice cracking.

Yamamoto grinned wider, shaking his head. “No. No, I'm just happy. I'm just really happy.”

He sounded sincere, as always, and Gokudera's eyes widened in shock, and he would have been skeptical, but Yamamoto was, after all, an idiot. Yamamoto took a step forward, and Gokudera felt obligated to tell him he was weird for wanting this, just so he knew. But Yamamoto knew, and took another step, so Gokudera told him he was weird for liking sushi so much, and for being so obsessed with a stupid sport, and for preferring dogs over cats, and for taking another step. But Yamamoto knew this, and he knew that, and that as well, and he was suddenly so close their feet were touching.

“Will you dance with me now?”

Gokudera shivered, probably because of the cold. “There's no music, idiot.”

“But there's rain.”

It really was raining, Gokudera realized, and it was such a cheap trick, that all he could do was to sigh in defeat, slump his shoulders, and rest his head against Yamamoto's chest. He felt those arms wrap around his back at last, and he felt in full intensity how powerless he was against that man, so he twisted his fingers in Yamamoto's shirt, and let himself sway with him a little, just a few times, before finally looking up. The smile he saw on Yamamoto's face was just embarrassing, for Gokudera, for both of them, and he just had to kiss it off, for propriety's sake.

The kiss was much like their first one, their lips slick with drops of water falling down between them, and into their mouths. When Yamamoto's lips fell open on a satisfied sigh, Gokudera pressed their faces closer together, throwing his arm around Yamamoto's neck, and kissed him deep and slow, licking into his mouth, and coaxing a more desperate sound. He smirked, unable to help himself, and he could feel Yamamoto's lips forming a scowl, before he was kissing Gokudera back, still keeping it hot, slow and open-mouthed, until they had to part for breath. Gokudera huffed a soft chuckle at Yamamoto's big, dumb smile.

“Does that mean we're not getting a divorce?”

Gokudera's brow twitched in annoyance, because _of course_ Yamamoto knew exactly the right thing to say to ruin the moment. Their faces were still almost touching, so when Gokudera tried to lick the stray drops of rain water from his mouth, he grazed Yamamoto's upper lip as well. Even though it sent shivers down his spine, and nearly distracted him all over again, Gokudera had to implement some rules here, the sooner the better. He kissed Yamamoto again, once, and then lightly smacked him upside the head, earning a laugh.

“Of course we're getting a divorce, you idiot.”

 


End file.
